


Just a Touch

by grayergray



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Black Sails - Freeform, Comfort, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayergray/pseuds/grayergray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entry for Day One of a 30 Day "OPT" Prompt. The prompt for Day 1: Holding Hands. </p><p>Based on an RP with a friend, an Alternate Time line taking off after the end of Season One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Touch

Anne Bonny wasn't the type to express herself well. Or often. Or at all. Communication for the fearsome red haired woman was usually limited to a wordless grunt, the flippant shrug of her shoulders and a dismissive expression on her face. While today was no different, Captain Charles Vane knew something was bothering her.

An animal himself, it wasn't hard for him to notice the stiff posture, the narrowness in her eyes which seemed to scan every face in the tavern looking for one to eye her in the wrong way and permit the fierce woman to spring from her feet and drive her dirk into the throat of the unlucky bastard. It was always fun to watch, but then there was clean up and how things with him and Eleanor the way they were, perhaps it was best if he wasn't spilling blood in her tavern.

He ordered a bottle of bumbo from the bar and two tin cups, carrying them to the table where Bonny sat on her own, plunking both down heavily and, with a grunt of recognition from the woman.

"Jack still ain't back, huh?" he nodded to one of the barmaids, a non verbal signal that he wanted food brought around as well as he pulled the cork out of the fat bottomed, green glass bottle. A draught of liquor was put into each mug and he pushed one towards Bonny.

Her eyes snapped to him and her mouth twitched, pulling downwards in the corners . Vane knew he'd be pressing his luck mentioning Rackham. but if anyone could do it, it was him.

The couple had been together, thick as thieves for years, and while Charles still didn't know what had precipitated Rackham's disappearance, frankly, he didn't care. What mattered more was that he didn't have a Quarter Master and the only hand that could be considered as deadly as his own was itching for a fight. Last time Bonny was this upset, they ended up down a crew.

The four blue eyes bored into each other for a silent moment as Vane took a relaxed posture, leaning back in the hard backed wooden chair, an elbow draped over the back, crossing his legs, left ankle onto his right knee. The implication was that as aggressive and renowned Anne was for her temper, Vane wasn't afraid of her.  He was also making the statement that he was of no threat to her. Body language, simple and effective, and something Vane was quite versed in.

Anne's hand slid around the tin cup and she brought it to her lips, never letting her eyes move from him. She didn't trust him. He was in it for himself and the crew of the Ranger as much as he was in it for Eleanor Gutherie, which is to say she couldn't trust that his interests and her own were going to line up. She wanted Jack back, but she understood that the crew weren't exactly sad to see him leave.

"How many nights has it been?" His voice was rough, the same, no nonsense and gravelled growl he always spoke in, though he was considerate enough to keep his voice down. Charles saw no benefit to insulting Bonny; if anything the risk of setting the human powder keg sitting in front of him off outweighed any possible benefit he could garner.

Her mute stare pinned him again, wavering only to follow the barmaid as she dropped a leg of pork, a half loaf of bread and a quarter wheel of cheese on a wooden plank along with the requisite knives down between them.

"The fuck do you care?" she asked, immediately uncomfortable. Vane was by far the most perceptive of the remaining crew, challenged only by Bonny who kept her information to herself, sharing only with Jack, who was even better than his partner at parsing the information.

"You're no good to me or the crew sleep deprived and starved," he said, gesturing that she should have something to eat.

Reluctantly the fine boned, dirt smudged hand reached out from under the cuffs of her over sized jacket, snatching a crust of bread and pinching a piece of pork with it. The bread was harsh, coarse and a dark brown colour showing that it had been made with the cheapest possible flour available.

"Jack's been gone a week, you've been moping around since he left," he articulated his point further, light coloured eyes scanning her face for the reactions he was looking for. What he wanted was to see was anything, a twitch in the corner of her eye, the down turn at her mouth. It would signal that he had her focus, which is what he wanted. "S'time to get back to work. I've got a crew, a ship and a prize. You want in, or do you want to sit and pine for your third husband?"

And there it was, a slight narrowing, a sharp pinch of her thing pale lips. Her nostrils flared and Vane could see the lines of her thin body tensing. Her shoulders tightened had the right hand, holding her pinch of bread and pork, tightened. For a second he thought she would launch herself across the table at him, in fact, it looked like she was considering it as well. Her left hand flattened on the coarse wood, and from his peripheral vision he could see the white under her dirty finger nails signalling that she was in fact putting pressure on it.

"Big haul; could use your sword," he added, a compliment from a man who rarely gave them. She had always pulled her own weight, and her ability to handle a sword had filled the deficit in combat which Rackham, who made up for his inability with a sword with a gilded tongue, created.

Careful eyes watched as she contemplated the offer.

"Not sleepin' with the crew," she growled.

Since throwing her lot in with Jack, she hadn't spent a night on the Ranger outside of his sight, with one exception. It was as much for her safety as it was for the rest of the crew. The night in question saw two men murdered and thrown over the side and a third man forced to consume his own testicles at the end of Anne's cutlass. There was a high price to be paid for attempting to force yourself on Anne Bonny.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he let the humour of the night in question play on his feline facial features for a moment, still half reclined in the chair. "Need a quarter master."

The offer hung between them for a moment as Anne seemed to finally remember that she had food in her hand, taking the excuse to delay an answer further. She chewed slowly, as if she wasn't starving, pretending that it hadn't been her first bite of food in a few days, the exact number had escaped her.

"You daft?" she finally croaked back, her voice a harsh growl, a female counter point to his own. "The crew'll never follow a woman."

"You're hardly just a woman, Bonny," he said, trying to hide the smirk on his lip. He knew it couldn't be easy for her, not that he cared necessarily. She had chosen this life, she had chosen Jack, no one made her do anything these days, not even Jack or Charles.

Leaning forward, Vane let his weight rest on his left arm, leaning it on the table. It was a more intimate posture, still non threatening but not as confident as his original, relaxed pose. Charles' calloused hand slid across the table and rested on Anne's left hand, smoothing over the the gold band on her ring finger. He was one of the few who knew that band did not in fact come from Jack Rackham, but rather Anne's first husband, whom she married when she was far too young, and who refused to give up on the feisty redhead regardless of Jack's machinations.

Bonny froze for a moment as she felt the tender gesture, her eyes leaving his finally, moving down to where his thumb brushed over the band given to her when she gave herself to James Bonny.

"You're experienced, and I trust you," he gave her hand a squeeze then withdrew his own. "I get the feeling you see more than people give you credit for, which leads me to think you've spent the last five years watching Jack work. I'm sure you've learned a thing or two."

Anne listened to him mutely, watching the Captain as his hand retreated, before her eyes returned to him. She tried not to think about the cold space left on her hand as his hand left hers. His touch was surprisingly hot, not just warm, but hot.

"So, what do you say, Bonny," he said. "Wanna sail on the Ranger again?" He leaned back, quirking a brow in a simple gesture. It was much a challenge as it was a question.

Anne watched him, her mouth drawn into a tight line, pale lips forming a tight expression. She pushed the chair back and stood, pouring another shot of sweetened rum into her tin tumbler before touching it to Vane's. "You've yourself a quarter master," she said, taking a long drink, draining her mug. "For all the good it'll do you."

She put the tin cup down and disappeared into the flow of bodies moving in and out of the tavern, easily lost in the swarms of larger, male pirates. 

He saw a body flung from an unseen point to the side and he couldn’t help the pull of his lips, revealing a predatory smirk as he picked up his tin mug, bringing the contents to his lips.

He wasn’t sure what the future held, but it was becoming clearer and clearer, that little bitch certainly had a place in it, even without her charmer of a husband to make up for the grace Vane himself lacked. 


End file.
